


Healing Hands

by Gaslight Dreamer (wyntirrose)



Series: Medical Psychology [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/Gaslight%20Dreamer
Summary: Ratchet always insists on putting himself last and Smokescreen is done with all that. After all, a medic who's almost literally dead on his feet is of no use to anyone and Smokey is determined to make the CMO relax.





	Healing Hands

Smokescreen entered the dimly lit med bay and took in the scene with a soft sigh. The room was pristine and the various machines were beeping softly as they monitored the few patients who still needed to recharge under observation..

“Ratchet?” Smokescreen asked as he stepped into the CMO’s office. “You okay?”

Ratchet looked up from his data pad, his optics cycling lazily as he tried to focus on Smokescreen. The normally brilliant blue was sickly pale and his armour had an almost greyish cast at the edges and seams.

“Yeah,” he finally said, exhaustion written in every word. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just need to stay here tonight and keep an optic on things.”

Smokescreen nodded. “I heard that Aid and Hoist were both out and I guess that your students aren’t quite ready for the night shift yet?”

Ratchet ex-vented heavily and looked out into the medical bay.

“If Jack wasn’t out on one of those berths I’d trust Swoop, but he’s not ready to take a shift on his own yet. And Skydive needs to be with his brothers. Superion was hit hard and they need time time to let their nanites repair their connecting systems. … Nights like this I really wish we’d been able to bring more medics with us in crystal storage.”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen replied with a sad look in his optics. “I wish the few we had had survived the crash. It would have made your life so much easier.”

The Praxian perched on the edge of Ratchet’s desk and smiled. 

“But,” he continued, “since I can't go back in time and get you more help, I thought I could stop by and keep you company. Maybe make the night a bit more pleasant?”

Ratchet chuckled at the offer. “While I'm sure you could make things very pleasurable, I suspect that you'd be a bit more of a distraction than my patients need right now.”

Smokescreen's smile grew wicked.

“Oooh … well I hadn't been thinking about that particular brand of pleasant,” he purred. “Maybe later though. After all, we both know I fit _very_ well under your desk.”

Ratchet’s optics darkened slightly in a blush and he cleared his vents.

“Have I told you lately just how cute you are when you're flustered?” Smokescreen asked. 

“And you take far too much pleasure in flustering me,” Ratchet replied, not quite managing to sound upset at the accusation.

“I enjoy being the only one who gets to see that look.” Smokescreen’s smile was tender. “Life’s been bringing the Hatchet out in you a lot, so I’m always glad to see Ratchet of Iacon come out to play.”

Ratchet’s look turned sad and he took Smokescreen’s hand in his own. “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been busy and-”

Smokescreen placed a finger against Ratchet’s lips, silencing him.

“Ratch, it’s okay,” he said. “I’d be worried if you were taking all of this,” he motioned vaguely out toward the medbay, “better than you are. Being stressed and infuriated with idiots who jump onto teleporting Seekers and who blow themselves up and who throw themselves in front of a cannon powered by a collapsed star ... all of that anger you’re feeling is totally normal. And, if I’m being honest, you’re taking all of this better than I ever would have.”

Ratchet chuckled at that. “Yeah, I seem to recall you pulling a gun on the last person who stressed you out.”

“Negative reinforcement,” Smokescreen said innocently. “Perfectly acceptable psychological technique. And I used foam darts.”

“Yeah, Prowl was so happy to hear that you had shot Red,” Ratchet said with a smile. “Did he ever read your report explaining how the processed works?”

Smokescreen chuckled and shook his head. “If he has read it yet he hasn’t acknowledged it. I doubt he ever will.”

He patted Ratchet’s hand and stood up. “But I am not here to talk about me, I’m here to help you relax.”

He pulled a cube of energon and a box out of his subspace pocket and placed them on the desk in front Ratchet.

“So, you are going to refuel, because right now you look about ready to be knocking on the gates of the Well. And while you’re drinking I’m going to help you chill a little bit. Completely platonically, of course.”

Ratchet looked about to protest but Smokescreen cut him off.

“Doctor’s orders,” he said. “And yes, I know I’m not really a doctor, but I play one on t.v. And, we’re still in med bay so you can run out there if anything happens.”

“I really need to focus on my patients, Smokey,” Ratchet said slowly. “I need to keep an optic on everything.”

Smokescreen held up the energon cube. “And you can keep watch on them while refuelling. You won’t be of any use of anyone if you end up in forced recharge.” 

Ratchet was silent for a long moment, then he finally took the cube and broke it open.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Any time, love,” Smokescreen said as he unfolded the small box to reveal a medical grade cleaning kit. 

“I’m surprised you still have that,” Ratchet said as he allowed Smokescreen to take one hand in his own.

“I only just pulled it out of storage,” Smokescreen replied. “Honestly, I’m rather surprised that any of my stuff survived given what happened to the room those boxes were in.”

Ratchet looked askance at the kit and pulled his hand back slightly. “I’m a little concerned about using wax and cleanser that’s seven hundred thousand vorn old.”

Smokescreen took firm hold of the CMO’s wrist. “The wax and cleanser are new. I bought them off of Sunstreaker last week. Only the best for our Chief Medical Officer. Now, are you going to let me pamper you a little or not?”

Ratchet paused for a long moment then allowed himself to relax. Smokescreen smiled and took Ratchet’s hand in his own. With a gentle touch he began to clean the seams with a small brush. While the medic’s hands were always impeccable clean there was always leftover wax and dirt that worked its way deep between connections and under plating. This form of cleaning was time consuming and often considered to be an unneeded luxury during war time when the same effect could be gained through a good soak in oil.

Ratchet let out a soft whine as Smokescreen worked out a particularly stubborn piece of grit caught in the medic’s thumb joint.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the area with a soothing touch. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good,” Ratchet replied, his voice slurring slightly as he started to fall into recharge.

Ratchet’s optics were dimmed to half luminosity and his engine hummed in a soft steady purr of contentment as his systems started to power down. 

“Ratch, you’re going to kink up your back if you fall into recharge at your desk,” Smokescreen said softly. “Why don’t you finish up your energon and then lie down in the quiet room. There’s only a twelve point three four nine eight two percent chance that anything’s going to happen in the next few hours.”

Ratchet sat upright and cycled his optics in a desperate attempt to stave off unconsciousness.

“I can’t,” he said, rubbing his face with his free hand. “I need to stay here in case anything goes wrong. Twelve percent is too high. There is just so much that could go wrong tonight and if something happens while I’m in recharge I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I’m not suggesting that you leave the bay,” Smokescreen said, modulating his tone into his ‘shrink’ voice. “I’m suggesting that you stay here, you recharge for a couple of hours, and I keep an optic on things. If anything so much as beeps out of sync I’ll wake you immediately.”

“You’re not a medic,” Ratchet argued. “Look I know that you want to help but-”

“I’ve downloaded a basic medical package,” Smokescreen replied calmly. “Yes, it’s nowhere near as good real training, but it will help in a pinch and I’m nowhere near arrogant enough to believe that I can take on an emergency should one come up.”

“I just don’t think that-”

“I will rouse you,” Smokescreen said firmly. “Just give your nanites a couple of hours to do their jobs. If you want, I can provide you with the numbers on how likely it’ll be that you make an error due to exhaustion.”

Ratchet’s optics narrowed, but his posture did slump slightly.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Smokescreen said as he took hold of Ratchet’s hands in his own. “But I need you to listen to me and to trust me. Nothing is going to happen and I will not allow you to recharge through it if it does.”

Ratchet’s optics dimmed as he thinned his lips. His hands twitched in Smokescreen’s grasp and finally he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said, sounding almost defeated. “Okay, I’ll rest for a bit. Wheeljack is stable and should be fine. He just needs to stay in stasis until his nanites have had a chance to fix the connectors in his arm. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe need to stay next to each other. If one of them onlines, don’t let him move. Something about that hit they took is causing their sparks to rebel and they start crashing every time they’re separated by more than ten feet. They need another few hours to stabilize. And, uhm…” Ratchet trailed off as he tried to remember the specifics on the rest of his patients.

“Is everything in your notes?” Smokescreen asked.

Ratchet nodded as he tried to stand up unsteadily. Instantly, Smokescreen was at his side, guiding him toward the quiet room.

“Send me your notes and I’ll keep an optic on everything. Promise.”

Ratchet nodded and sent the files. He was moving like an automaton, stiff and slow, placing one foot in front of the other as if it was taking all of his concentration to complete even that.

“Good,” Smokescreen said as he guided Ratchet to the berth and helped him to sit down. “Now finish this energon and I’ll finish cleaning your hands.”

“It’s okay, Smokey,” Ratchet slurred slightly. “You don’t need to-”

“I know I don’t need to,” Smokescreen said tenderly. “I want to. And you deserve some pampering. But, if you really want me to stop, I will. Just let me know.”

“Okay,” Ratchet replied. He finished his cube and lay back on the berth with a soft groan of exhaustion. “Thank you.”

Smokescreen smiled affectionately. “It’s my pleasure, Ratch. You deserve being taken care of, for all you do for us. And I’ll be sure to waken you if anything happens.”

Ratchet offlined his optics and nodded slowly. Smokescreen went back to cleaning the medic’s hands, keeping his audials focused on the med bay proper, keeping track of every noise no matter how slight.

“I trust you,” Ratchet said after a long period of silence and Smokescreen could only smile down at him with affection.


End file.
